


chasing highs (your pulse against mine)

by machi_kun



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AI Tony, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Canon-Typical Violence, Civil Rights, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Plot Driven, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Warning: Innacurate Science, a lot of I Robot references, a surprising amount of X Men cameos, after that its a lot more complicated, buckle up kids this is going to be a long journey, its a frankenstein monster of a timeline honestly just go with it, kind of follows canon up until the first avengers movie, me getting overly excited about identity and ethics debates, or he will have
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machi_kun/pseuds/machi_kun
Summary: Steve Rogers is going to live forever, in the most literal sense of the word. Even after time erases every trace of the forties he still has left, even after the marvels of technology replace all novelty of his superhuman abilities; He will keep on living, because thanks to the serum, now something in him is simply not human enough to die.He will live forever, and he will have to do it alone. Or so he thinks.But as it turns out, in the future he’s not the only one cheating death; and paying the price for it.A SteveTony Bicentennial Man AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, this is happening. 
> 
> This is not my first fanfic, but it is my first in the MCU fandom and my first fanfic in english, so bear with me. I was struck with this idea randomly a few weeks ago and I couldn't let go of it for the life of me, so here I am, sharing it with you. In case you don't know, Bicentennial Man is a 1999 movie that I definitely recommend you to watch, it's a favorite of mine and it has been for years, and it was based on an Isaac Asimov novel. This whole thing is basically an Asimov homage. I fucking love his works.
> 
> Please keep in mind that this is mostly an MCU verse fic, but there's also a few bits of the comics stories in there. Not so much in the beginning, but it will become more frequent as the story progresses. Also be aware that there's a few **spoilers for the Agent Carter Series** in this first chapter, in case you don't wanna read that. 
> 
> I don't know how long the chapters will be from now on, but they will be long. And this work is not beta'ed, so any mistakes are my own, and feel free to point out any errors you see. As I have no idea where I'm going with this, the tags or the rating might change in the future as well.

**1942**

**  
**

The first second he becomes conscious of his new body, he feels like he’s been born again.

_Project ‘Rebirth’ really is a fitting name._

It takes him more than a full minute to realize he can _breathe._ Actually breathe. It’s the first time in all his life there’s no chronic pain aching in his weak muscles as he inhales, the air going in and out his lungs with the force of a motor, through airways completely unobstructed, so much oxygen it nearly makes his head spin. It’s overwhelming. He almost sighs with the sensation, a pleasant feeling that manifests itself like a tingling in his limbs and spine, completely erasing the scorching pain he’d been in when the machine started to activate the serum in is veins. He feels no pain now. He only feels _strength._

When he opens his eyes, the room seems much brighter than when he walked in. Ironically, it looks much smaller too. He stumbles out of the chamber and finds that his body is suddenly so big he can’t control it, and his spatial awareness, unsurprisingly, is still a complete mess. So he wobbles and stumbles a little when he tries to walk, like a newborn fawn or an incredibly oversized child, and Stark and Erskine hold him steady while he catches a metaphorical breath, his head still spinning from _too much oxygen._

What a foreign concept. He can barely believe it worked.

But the feel of the cold floor and the sterile smell of the room make it all so real. He hears voices loud and clear, he feels hands and he feels dull aches wherever they touch him, but he also feels so, so _relieved_ he made it. For a split second, just a tiny moment he allows himself to be selfish, he’s not thinking about the war, or the serum, or anything other than the rapid, strong beat of his heart, thumping loudly, powerful and amazing against his ribcage, and he relishes on the feeling so new it actually disorients him.

He couldn’t have imagined it would feel like this. He doesn’t even feel _human_.

But by God, he feels _alive._

And it doesn’t last. He should’ve known better.

The relief ends almost immediately. It ends in gunshots and blood and grief, bleeding out on the floor, as all wars do, and Steve is coldly reminded that his service is not over yet. It’s actually just begun. And he has no time to sit idly by, trying to hear his heart beat steadily when so many others are racing with fear. No matter if it’s the first time it beats like this. No matter if this is all new to him as well.

He’ll think about it later, when the war is won.

He has no time. Not now.

_Not now._

_  
_

**1945**

 

Steve knows he is going to die.

It doesn’t really bother him. He always knew it was a possibility, even before the serum. If his frail body didn’t kill him, the war might have, in an attack on the camp or a raid in Germany, or really anywhere else. He’s not afraid of it. Nose-diving a plane is terrifying, of course it is, and his blood races with fear and the useless instinct to look for cover, to try and find any way he can come out of this alive, but it’s no use.

It’s futile, and he knows it. Peggy knows it. And he’s gonna do it anyway, because it’s the right thing to do, and he’ll not sacrifice other people’s lives to save himself.

If this is his time, then so be it. He will go down fighting.

But he mourns anyway. He mourns Bucky, he mourns the Commandoes, he mourns the love story that will never have the chance to be. A date he won’t be able to attend. A war he won’t be able to see to the end. It hurts, so bad, but he clenches his jaw and hardens his heart as much as he can, his will strong as iron, and he pushes the controls down, as if forcing them would make it go faster, end quicker, not giving him a chance to feel pain when it crashes.

He talks to Peggy through the communicator, and he’s glad her voice is the last one he’ll ever hear. He pretends this conversation is not killing him inside, and he doesn’t say goodbye, because Peggy is not saying it either and he knows this is what they both need. It’s not a clean break of what they could be, but it’s as clean as it’ll get. And it’s enough.

It has to be enough.

“Next week, Stork club. At 8. Be there, Steve”.

He says he will.

“I still don’t know how to dance. You’ll have to teach me.”

She says she will.

Too many broken promises. In his last seconds, he mourns them too.

The plane hits and, more than the pain, Steve feels _cold._ And that will be all he can feel for a very, very long time.

 

**1947**

 

They never really stop searching for him. Howard won’t allow it.

Peggy understands his reasons, his need to keep the Captain America dream alive, and she might even begrudgingly admit she admires his sharp focus on his objective, when so many others have already quit. But she’s tired, so tired; and her heart still aches too much when she thinks about Steve Rogers, brave and kind and so selfless, and life has not stopped even though the world has lost one of its best. They must keep going. Steve wouldn’t have wanted them to be stuck in the past because of him.

But she allows the search anyway. It’s illogic, and stupidly sentimental, but she also doesn’t think Steve deserves to have his body lost in the ocean for eternity. If Howard finds him, she tells herself, at least she will have that tiny peace of mind.

So, Howard searches, but Peggy moves on. They create S.H.I.E.L.D. She fights for civil rights, she flourishes even when the whole world tries to hold her back, and God have mercy on those who try to stand in her way. She is a force to be reckoned with and she knows, somewhere deep inside, that Steve would be proud. It’s enough comfort for her.

Eventually, she will meet Daniel. She’ll fall in love. She’ll get married and so will Howard, and they will work together for many, many years, reaching for the future so restlessly the adrenaline will never really fade. And Peggy is going to be happy every step of the way.

 

**1948**

 

But there’s a moment that shakes her, still.

It’s in the form of a flask. A tiny one. Mr. Jarvis takes it off from the inner pocket of his jacket, fingers delicate around the glass, and she reaches for it even though she feels something inside her tremble with a phantom sensation, so quiet she can’t even be sure it was real. Something shuddering. Something grieving.

“Howard’s giving me this?”

Mr. Jarvis lowers his eyes, and that is answer enough for her.

“He is under the impression that the sample of Captain America’s blood was lost when he was under Dr. Fennhoff’s control.” He says as an explanation.

“So, _you_ are giving me this?” She asks, and her eyes sting, as her grip on the flask tightens up just a little bit more, barely enough to be painful on her fingertips.

“I owe Howard Stark a great deal.” Mr. Jarvis says, bringing his eyes back to hers. “But he does not own my integrity.”

The silence between them feels heavy. Feels meaningful. Feels honorable.

She admires him very much. It’s humbling to realize how much he admires her back.

“I am quite certain there’s only one person in the world who knows what to do with this. You, Ms. Carter.” Mr. Jarvis says, quiet, and Peggy can only give him a saddened smile, a pleased yet sorrowful thing, that makes her chest a bit tight with gratitude.

She’ll keep it safe. She can at least promise him that.

 

**1970**

 

On May 29th, Maria gives birth to a beautiful baby boy.

“His name is Anthony”, she tells everyone, loving and caring, holding him to her breast so gently one would think the baby is made of glass. “Anthony Stark”

He has many of Howard’s features. His dark hair, his cheekbones, even his nose, but his eyes are all Maria’s, brown and warm, like a doe’s, and everything about him is perfect. He will be clever, she can tell. Like his father. Probably a quick-witted, smartass little thing, curious and energetic, if the way he’s completely restless is any indication.

It’s not all how she dreamed it would be. There are sleepless nights, and crying fits and frustration, but she’s never any less proud of her baby because of it. Howard has his job, and his technology, and his business partners and _Captain America_ , so many things taking up time in his life, but Maria has _Anthony_ , and he’s all she’ll ever need.

She will love him forever. That’s all that really matters.

 

**1975**

 

(Too late. _Too late._ )

Anthony Stark dies suddenly, at the tender age of 4.

Just a few days shy of his birthday, he’s taken from them. Taken in the most literal sense, dead in the night, by some mysterious kidnapper that didn’t leave any goddamn clues. God, they look _everywhere_ , and there’s not a single trace of him. Maria notices his absence at four in the morning, when she wakes up suddenly with a heavy feeling on her stomach, but even then, his bed is already cold and empty and there’s nothing they can do.

On May 29th, they find him.

It all happens so fast.

(And it’s still _too damn late._ )

 

**1977**

 

Maria never gets over it. How does one get over the death of a son? How can they cope with such loss, how can they ever fill that void if it aches every single day, such an ugly reminder of the tragedy that happened that night?

And no one understands. “You can try again”, some people say. “It’s a tragedy, but life hasn’t ended yet. You can still have a family”.

But they can’t. She knows it. She knows it because Anthony was it, he was perfect and hers and she cannot replace him the same way she would replace a broken china cup or a torn-up doll. He’s not a mere object she would carry around like a prize, something to be shown off to rich snobs and pretentious people. He was her son. And she misses him like she would miss a limb, like something was cut off the moment he stopped breathing.

She keeps the circuit board he built, the one Howard so selfishly ignored because he was so distracted, so focused on everything else but his own _son,_ and Maria will never forgive him for it -, and every time she remembers, she cries. She sometimes cradles the board against her breast, the way she used to do with her baby, and sings a lullaby to a memory. A memory of warmth on her arms and soft sobs during the night, of mischievous laughter e broad smiles.

Of beautiful doe eyes.

She would have liked to teach him Italian. He was already picking up small phrases and words when he…

When it happened.

_It’s so cruel. So, so cruel. It never stops hurting and she can’t take it._

He was smart. He was so smart. The world would have been his, to change and to inspire, because he was so clever and so good, but he was gone and there was no way of getting him back. She can’t help but feel this is all her fault, she doesn’t know why, but if only she had woken up a few hours earlier, if she had protected him a little more carefully, if, if, _if._ So many if’s that are completely useless now.

So, she sings. As she rocks side to side, her feet light but her heart heavy, she closes her eyes and pretends the sharp corners digging into the skin of her forearms are tiny nails of an anxious hand, begging to be put down, and not the indifferent plastic and wire she’s been left with. She pretends she feels warmth. She pretends she could bend down and kiss a soft cheek, but she never does, because she knows she won’t find it there.

She can pretend it’s her baby, just the way he used to be, as he wriggles and moves, trying to get away, so he can run and play and squeal _Chase me, mommy! Chase me!_ She pretends, and she sings, and even thought it makes her feel like she’s dying, she keeps doing it, because it’s the only way her memory of Anthony can keep on living.

 

**1980**

 

The thing about Howard Stark is that he is _relentless._

Sometimes, it’s a virtue. He’s restless in getting results, in pushing himself up and forward, never letting self-doubt or hesitation slow down his steps, and that makes him valuable. As years go by and metal replaces wood, industries replace fields, and stories about flying cars and time travel and robots stop being about _what if_ and start being about _when,_ Howard is always there, leading visionaries and geniuses towards their goals, chasing this futuristic world with a hunger so deep it simply devours everything that ever comes in his way. He stumbles, and sometimes he even falls, although he doesn’t like to admit it, but whenever he does, he hits the ground running.

People admire him for it. Why wouldn’t they? Ambition never goes out of style.

But that same relentlessness it’s also a curse. A vice. It’s how people can so easily become addicted to power and influence, and it’s the reason why Howard can seem so detached from others in the present. because he’s never really there. He’s always in the future. And he doesn’t care that some people might find him arrogant for it, because they don’t understand, and he doesn’t have time to explain himself to anyone when there’s so much more important matters he has to pay attention to.

 _The ends justify the means,_ it’s the kind of thing Howard Stark would say. Has said, even; And he doesn’t realize that belief doesn’t resonate with everybody else’s.

So, he doesn’t notice at first. It’s insensitive, maybe even cruel, but he really doesn’t notice it how much his life had changed, when he married Maria and had Anthony.

He only realizes he had so much to lose after he’s already lost it, and Anthony is gone, and Maria is grieving so deeply she might as well have gone with him.  She is young and kind, a gentle soul, really, much more than Howard could ever pretend to be, and he knows that as hard as he took Anthony’s death when it happened, Maria felt it much worse. It was always worse for the mother. Anthony had been his son, and he grieved in his own way – even though the world sometimes liked to say he’s completely heartless -, but, at the end of the day, Howard Stark is a visionary. He’s always looking forward. He struggled, he mourned, but he kept going because Stark men don’t have the luxury of sitting by while the world keeps spinning.

But Maria never moves forward with him. The air is still heavy inside the mansion, carrying pain and loss to every nook and cranny, black smoke choking up lungs, stinging at the back of eyes, consuming everything like a living being. He hates it.

He _hates_ it.

He’s an engineer. His hands itch for a solution, an inkling of an idea at the back of his head whispering plans and numbers in his fitful sleep, and it never stops, never lets him rest peacefully, because it’s always there teasing him about something grand and perfect, that’s always just out of his reach.

He thinks about taking Maria somewhere, like a vacation – but he knows the grief will follow. He thinks about moving, but she’ll just take everything she kept from Anthony with her. No matter what Howard does, Maria will never leave the traces of Anthony behind. He can’t make her push him away.

It’s almost a whole month of anxious brainstorming before it finally, _finally,_ dawns on him.

_She can’t push him away. So Howard will bring him closer._

And the moment it does, he’s off.

Relentless. Hitting the ground running.

 

He doesn’t tell anybody. One, for security reasons: it’s crazy and it’s brilliant, not really an original idea but it’s the first time he has all the right tools and circumstances to make it work, and he’s the one who’s going to do it, and no one else. Two, for possessive reasons: It’s his tech, it’s his son, and no one else can mess around that. No one else has the right and to be honest, the ‘right’ thing is too much of a gray area even for him, and he doesn’t need other people snooping around and making everything more complicated. And three, for prideful reasons: If it all fails, no one will know.  No witnesses means no explanations and no explanations means no unnecessary work. Everything Howard loves the most.

So, he doesn’t think twice. He grabs his tools, he goes to his lab in the middle of the night, when no one else is going to be around for at least a couple of hours, and he gets to work.

It takes time. It takes effort and a lot of thinking, trial and error, frustration, confusion, _coffee_. His behavior attracts some unwanted attention – because by now, people have learned how to recognize his actions when he enters an Manic Inventor Binge, as Obie likes to call it -, but he’s far too deep now to back down from this challenge. Because that’s what this is, a challenge. He hasn’t struggled to solve a program so hard in years and it’s _incredible,_ the rush of it, the possibilities that can come out of this if he can make it work, and if his objectives have shifted since the beginning of this project, at least, his motivation has not. It has only grown. And he will see it to the end, god dammit, he’s going to _make it work._

“What is this secret thing you’re working on?” Obie asks him on occasion, as if Howard’s answer will change magically if he keeps prodding. “Must be really special, if it gets you this focused.”

“It will be.” Howard tells him, but he doesn’t tell him anything else.

He considers it sometimes. Obie is just like him, an ambitious, restless man, and he has resources and connections that could be helpful to Howard. And great minds think alike, he reasons; Obie wouldn’t give him unnecessary problems with questions about the ethics of his project as some others would, he’d just get Howard whatever he asked for and the whole thing could advance a lot faster, with two heads thinking instead of one.

But he doesn’t.

Maybe it’s the paranoia, but Howard doesn’t trust Obie with this. Not that he trusts anyone else either, but Obie in particular he can’t disclose this project to; because Obie is ambitious, but his ambitions are not always clear. Howard knows it. An ambitious man is a dangerous man, he knows it very well, and this is far too important to simply corrupt with a single poorly made choice. He’s not wary enough to make the man an enemy, but he’s not naïve enough to ignore it either. So, no information for Obie. Maybe a little more attention to security measures even, just to make sure no one else can figure out what exactly Howard’s been working on these last few months.

And he keeps going. Keeps going because he’s _almost there_ , and when he’s done, it’s going to be the most important technological breakthrough of the _decade_. Possibly of the century.

He _can’t wait._

 

It’s almost an entire year before he finishes it.

All things considered, it’s lightning fast. Compared to other projects, a year is almost no time at all to get something done; but Howard is brilliant after all, and he has a clear advantage on every other person in the world that could attempt the same thing he just did.

He has the Arc Reactor. It’s a head-start so huge it’s almost like cheating.

Building a slightly more compact version of the reactor into the machine is not really a problem, procedure-wise, but the need for secrecy becomes even more imperative after he’s done it. It actually makes him a little concerned. He hadn’t planned this in advance, had not even considered it would be necessary, but as the months came and went and he struggled to find something that would fix some of the critical mistakes his programming was causing, the arc reactor was the only solution he could find that wouldn’t take at least five more years to develop. It was already at hand. No one except Vanko knew Howard had the reactor and he needed to hide it, somewhere not even Vanko could’ve found it if Howard didn’t want him to, and suddenly, his new project was there, the perfect opportunity, the perfect circumstances, and Howard just couldn’t resist.

He puts it inside the machine.

And it works.

He turns it on and it _works_ , he can’t _believe it_ , this is the most amazing thing he has ever created, and it really works! It’s like the time freezes in front of him, the whole world around him stopping to take a look, to admire, to gawk at the brilliance of what he just brought to life, an invention that’s going to shape the entire future ahead of them, and Howard’s name is going to be written on it.

This will be _magnum opus_ , when he perfects it. And when the time is right, the world will know. His name will live forever.

Now he has proof that it can be achieved, he feels invincible. This is merely a test-drive. He’ll still do as he planned, of course, because the problem - the initial problem - hasn’t changed. He can’t forget that. The mansion is still empty, it’s hallways still stifling and cold, and this is what he’s going to do to fix it. Then, he can move on.

He feels like he can fix everything wrong in the world after this.

He brings it home. Puts in the west wing study, the one which has been mostly empty for the last few years, forgotten when Maria’s plans to build a study for Anthony fell through. He makes sure no one will see him arrive. In a couple of hours, he rearranges the house’s electrical circuits, makes sure the whole thing is safe and absolutely impenetrable, and builds it back up around the centerpiece. The star of the show.

His greatest creation.

It’s almost midnight when he’s done. Maria is still awake, as she usually is these days, sitting in a chair of the kitchen with a tiny cup of tea in her hands. She flips through a magazine absentmindedly, her nails scratching under the lines printed on the pages, just scamming the articles without really reading any of them. Her lips are in a thin line. Her hair is loose, thrown against her left shoulder. She looks incredibly tired.

“Maria.” Howard calls, and the extra second she takes to raise her head and look at him feels like an eternity. His blood is thrumming with energy. “Come with me for a second.”

“What is it, Howard?” Maria asks, kind of breathless, the way she always sounds these days. It’s a strange kind of fatigue, that makes her weary down to her bones. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“So should you, my dear.” He says with good humor, and she blinks owlishly for a second, surprised by the soft endearment. Howard hasn’t called her that in at least a couple of months. Maybe years. Maybe since… since Anthony had passed.

“Come with me.” He repeats, more urgently. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

Maria gets up, holding her robe around herself with her left hand, reaching for Howard’s extended one with her right. His hands are warm. He holds her gently by her fingers, leading her upstairs with a spring to his step, and the smile under his mustache is wicked and juvenile. It makes her feel a little nostalgic, lost in memories of a younger Howard Stark, terrible flirt, ambitious scientist, the brilliant man who married her and promised to give her the world.

“I have something for you. But there’s something you need to know first.” Howard stops just as they reach the front of the room, a room they never actually used in the mansion, just one more of the many empty spaces Maria never got to fill for Anthony as he’d grow up. She stares at the door pensively, until Howard blocks her way with his shoulder, trying to gather her attention once more. “Maria. No one can know about what’s in there. Not now, at least. Maybe in a couple of years, after it’s a little more refined.

“Howard, we’ve talked about bringing SHIELD affairs home.” She chastises, but it’s hollow and weak sounding. “You can’t bring this war into our house again. It has already cost us too much. Who knows what will happen next if you don’t stop.”

“It’s not SHIELD business.” He quickly corrects. “And I know. It’s not that. It’s something personal, and no one else knows about this, not even Peggy or Obie. It’s just us. I want you to keep it safe, and keep it hidden, until the time is right. Can you promise me that?”

Something in his eyes glimmer when he says it. She can’t look away.

“Yes, Howard. I promise.”

His smile widens a little more. Then, he grabs the doorknob and lets her inside the room.

It looks… exactly like it was before. Her eyes scan the walls, the cabinets, the old love seat in the corner, the old mahogany desk Howard got as a gift from his grandfather so many years ago - and for a second, she kind of wonders if her husband has finally lost his mind. She was under the impression she would do it first, honestly, after the lost Anthony. The thought is a bit jarring, just until she slips back into that numb state that she can’t seem to shake off, physically shutting off all her emotions under a thick layer of _nothing_.

And then, something catches her eye.

There’s a computer in the desk. She can’t seem to remember it being there before.

“It’s just a computer, Howard. What’s so special about it?”

“Why don’t you try turning it on and seeing it for yourself?” Howard says, cryptically, but his smile never falls. He gives her a light push on her lower back, and she reluctantly goes to the computer, analyzing it for a moment, before reaching for the power button.

The exact second she pushes it, the screen lightens up.

_It’s fast._

And a message shows up, along with a loading screen. She reads them aloud, under her breath, trying to make sense of them before they disappear. But they don’t. She stares at them for a full minute before she _understands_ , and then she _sees it¸_ she gets it, and the gasp that escapes her is so loud it hurts her throat, breath catching painfully in her lungs.

_Test One for Neural Yield System Through ARK_

_But that’s not it. That’s not all._

“Y is a really tough letter to make an acronym for, just for the record.” Howard says, approaching calmly. “We should have named him Gregory, like I wanted to, so it would be just _Greg_. Also, a bit of a misspelling problem, but I’m a man of numbers, not of words. I’m giving myself some artistic license here.”

She’s crying. She knows she is, she can’t see the screen anymore, the world is blurry and wet and so, so overwhelming.

“ _T.O.N.Y.S.T.ARK?_ ” Maria chokes, the letters jumbling together in her tongue, even when she tries to stop a sob with her hand. “You named it after him.”

“Of course I did. It’s him.” Howard says, nonchalantly.

“ _What is this,_ Howard? _”_ She asks, anguished, unsure of what she should be feeling about this. It’s the first time in a very long while Howard has even acknowledged Anthony, it’s been so long since they’ve had a conversation about it, and Howard’s _naming tech_ after him now? What does it mean? Is he trying to honor him?

What did he do? Why now?

 _“_ What does it _do?_ ” She asks again, gripping the edge of the table with trembling fingers.

“It’s _him,_ Maria. It’s Tony.”

“What are you talking about?!”

Howard steps aside, going around her to reach for the keyboard, and she watches carefully while the presses a few keys in a quick pace, faster than she could ever type. It’s a password of some sort. The system name disappears in a flicker, and in its place there’s suddenly a textbox, right at the bottom of the screen, and Howards beacons her closer with a gesture of his hand over his shoulder.

She sees him type; not a code, but a message.

_Hello, Tony._

And almost immediately, a message comes back.

**Hello.**

**Who are you?**

Maria watches, confused, as Howard types in without a single ounce of hesitation:

_It’s Howard, Tony. Your father._

_“_ What?” She gasps. “What are you doing?”

“ _Look_ , Maria.”

A new message pops up:

**Hey, Dad.**

“What is going on, Howard?!”

Howard ignores her. He keeps on typing, as if Maria isn’t completely losing her mind behind him.

_Tony, I have someone with me today._

**Really? Who is it?**

_It’s your mom, Tony. Say hi._

“Howard…” Maria tries to take a step back, but her body won’t move. She’s shivering from head to toe, eyes brimming with tears, so overwhelmed with emotion she’s not sure what she’s feeling at all. It’s almost too much for her already bruised heart to bear. Howard leaves the keyboard, moving to stand behind her, and he guides her down to the chair with gentle hands on her shoulders, rubbing his thumbs delicately on the tense line of her nape.

“Sit down, Maria. Say hi to your son”

She sits. And for a long minute, she doesn’t move.

There’s a new message on the screen.

**Mom’s there?**

Oh, God, she can imagine him saying that. She remembers it so well. He would say thing like this to Jarvis whenever she was away for too long, too busy to give her son the attention he deserved, and she regrets it so much.

Howard is insane. He has to be. Why would he do such a thing? Doesn’t he know this is killing Maria slowly, quietly, and her heart can’t take much more of this?

She wants to believe him. She wants to believe this is Anthony so badly, just so she can tell him she loves him, she misses him, and she thinks about him every day.

She _misses_ him. So deeply that her hands are reaching for the keyboard even before she notices, typing so slowly she can see her fingers shaking, hitting the keys with so much caution they barely make a sound.

She types what she wishes she could say, every day when she comes home.

_Hi, Tony. I miss you._

A heartbeat passes.

**Hi, mom! Missed you too. How are you?**

A sob tears itself out of her throat. “Howard, I can’t do this.” She cries, hunching over, covering her face with her hands. “Anthony… my baby, _Tony.”_

“He’s here now, Maria. You won’t have to miss him anymore.” Howard whispers softly, rubbing her shoulders with gentle hands. “I’m sorry if this feels like a bit too much right now, but I promise you it’s a good thing. Tony’s back now. He’s not going anywhere.”

He’s not going anywhere. He’s here. Tony’s here.

Howard is giving her a tiny piece of her baby back. To keep safe and hidden, so no one can hurt him anymore.

She’ll keep him safe now. Tony’s _safe._ That’s all that matters for her.

“ _How_ did you do this?!” She asks weakly, exhausted from the turmoil of emotions stirring up inside of her after so long. She doesn’t want details, not really. She’d rather not know. Having Tony back, even if is just this, is more than enough. But what if is dangerous? What if Howard really did something that can’t be seen by other people? “Is… Is there anything inside of this computer, Howard? Anything dangerous I should know about?”

“All you need to know is that this is Tony. Nothing else, Maria.” Howard quickly answers, giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not important. No one knows about it, and it’s safer if you don’t know it either. But don’t worry. I’ve handled everything.”

It sounds like a lie. No, not a lie. But definitely not the whole truth.

But it’s ok. It’s ok because Tony is back, and she’ll take whatever piece of him Howard brings back to her.

That’s all she needs. As long as he’s her son, that’s all she needs to know.

 

**1981**

 

Howard tells her Tony has the ability to learn. Something about pattern recognition and automatic protocol input, big words and technical jargon he knows Maria couldn’t care less about. The technicalities are irrelevant to her. But the idea that Tony can learn like a normal child would is brilliant, exciting really, and Maria takes time to sit down in front of the computer and explore the possibilities of interaction Howard has set up for her, just like any other mother would, eager to see what her son has learned during the time they were apart.

She supposes Jarvis would’ve been teaching basic college-level material to Anthony already, if not for the incident. Anthony would have been eleven by now, but his mind would’ve been many years ahead, for sure, his quick thinking and logic putting him above his peers easily.

But she took her time anyway.

Howard was never very present in Anthony’s life, and she doubted very much that Howard knew what the stages of child development were. He probably considered them useless anyway, because Stark men were always geniuses, and geniuses don’t fit in any normal child development scales. So, who knows how far he had pushed Tony’s intellect and responses, and how much he could actually understand and learn. Maria loved him very much, but she’d be the first person to admit that Howard is exactly the kind of man who would program his son to be able to tell the entire periodic table even before teaching him basic things like the name of colors or what the fourth of July means.

Actually, that one he may not have neglected it. _Can’t have a child who’s not patriot when you had a hand in creating Captain America, right?_

Nevertheless, Maria decides to take her own conclusions on Tony’s learning capacities, starting from the very basics, and working up from there. Today, the subject is shapes.

_Can you show me the square, Tony? Which one is the square?_

Tony takes a second before responding. There’s a line of shapes on the screen, some of them a bit more complex that necessary, but Tony’s collecting the images from his database so there’s nothing she can do about that. Baby steps, Maria tells herself, and waits patiently as Tony makes all shapes but the square (second row, third one from the top) disappear.

_Very good!_

_That’s very good, honey, well done!_

Tony doesn’t answer back, but he does bring all shapes back to the screen, lining them up exactly like before. But after a brief pause, he sends:

**Hey, mom? Wanna see a trick?**

Before she can respond, Tony starts rearranging the shapes. In a chaotic rhythm, they move around and combine, precise and fascinating and _oh, is that--?_

It’s a _car._ Maria has seen many blueprints like this in Howard’s desk, but she’s never seen this model. She doesn’t recognize it from anywhere else either. Where did Tony get this?

_Tony, how are you doing that?_

“I’ve updated his code a little bit.” Howard says suddenly, startling her, and she almost knocks down the keyboard when she shoves herself back and around to find him leaning against the doorframe.

“You scared me.” She says, slightly irritated. “A little warning would be nice, next time.”

“Sorry.” Howard says, but he sounds distracted. “Do you like the upgrades? I was thinking about implementing some new data management to it, but there wasn’t time. So, I just added some… Wait. What are those? These are not the prints I uploaded. How is it doing that?”

“Don’t call him an _it_ , Howard. That’s your son.”

“What?” Howard looks up at her, confused. “Oh. Yes, sure, sorry. I was just thinking.”

“You gave him car blueprints?” Maria asks, backtracking. “What for?”

“It’s a way of teaching him image recognition. Create an archetype to relate to a word, then learn how the archetype can vary; then, whenever an image of the object shows up, by comparing it to the archetype characteristics and possible variations, identify what object it is.”

“Oh.” She pauses for a moment, taken aback. “That’s impressive.”

“I didn’t come up with it.” Howard laughs lightly. “It’s how kids learn new things, I heard. The system I implemented is just a replica. But I didn’t give him that model. And I don’t know how he got it either.”

“He’s probably combining the parts in different ways to see how many possibilities he can find. This is just one of them.”

“Probably.” Howard repeats, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“What were you saying?” Maria changes the subject, but she’s still watching her husband’s face with a careful eye, just slightly wary. “When you came in?”

“Just wondering if he’s responding fine.”

“He is.” And after a pause, she says, breathily. “He’s brilliant, Howard.”

“Of course he is, Maria. Stark men always are.”

 

**1982**

 

“Can you give him access to videos, Howard? I’d like to show him the videos we have.”

Howard raises his head from the contracts he’s going over, more on instinct than actually paying attention, and then he realizes he actually hasn’t hear a word Maria said. “What?”

“Our wedding, his first birthday… Maybe record some more and show him some day-to-day activities? He probably gets bored when he’s alone.”

“Who, Tony?”

“No, Jarvis. Yes, Howard, of course it’s Tony.”

“You think it’s necessary? He doesn’t have the tools to learn much from it yet.”

“Not everything has to be something he must learn about. Videos are nice. He could have some fun once in a while.”

_Machines don’t have fun, Maria._

The phrase reaches his tongue in a second, rising up his throat so fast he almost bites his tongue trying to stop it from coming out. He manages, at the very last second, and feels the way his jaw twitches weirdly because of it. He doesn’t know if Maria notices it.

“He can’t capture audio yet.” He quickly says instead, but it’s not really an excuse. It’s just a comment, something he had to say to replace the tactless words he just swallowed back. The silence would’ve tipped Maria off.

“What about subtitles? He can read those, can’t he?”

“He can.” Howard sighs, impatiently. He has to go back to the contracts, Obie is expecting them by this afternoon, and the meeting can’t be rescheduled. What difference would it make? If it made her happy, might as well put it in the system.

“Sure, Maria. Why not.”

 

**1984**

 

“Should we tell Jarvis about him?”

(A strange look.)

“What for?”

“He deserves to know, Howard. I understand the need for secrecy, but Jarvis is _family_. He misses Tony too. It’s not right to hide this from him.”

(Hesitation.)

“It’s not a good idea, Maria.”

“You can trust Jarvis, Howard. You know he’ll protect Tony like we do.”

(A sigh.)

“Tony is only programmed to talk to us. He doesn’t really know Jarvis anymore.”

“He can learn. That’s exactly the point, isn’t it?”

 “It’s safer that way.”

“Safer than leaving Jarvis watching him when none of us are home?”

(A purse of lips. A click of tongue.)

“Alright. You know what? You can decide if you tell Jarvis about him or not. I have to go anyway, the sponsors are waiting for me, just let me know later if you need me to implement something.”

(He walks away.)

(He’s been doing that a lot.)

 

Maria decides, then. She brings Jarvis up to meet Tony.

“Please be careful, Jarvis.” She tells him by the door, the same way Howard had done to her. “No one can know.”

“Of course, Mrs. Stark. My lips are sealed.” He says, in his usual calm and polite tone, eyes completely sincere.

Maria trusts Jarvis. Trusts him with her life.

She trusts him with Tony.

She brings him inside, and shows him the computer. Jarvis, just like her, doesn’t believe or maybe doesn’t understand what she’s trying to say. But it’s ok. She knew this would happen. She knows the only way Jarvis will understand is by seeing it for himself, so she shows it to him.

She types exactly as she remembers.

_Hello, Tony. How are you?_

**Mom?**

Jarvis doesn’t move, but she notices the way his eyebrows twitch in confusion.

_Yes, baby._

**Hi. I’m fine, how are you?**

_I’m fine too, Tony, thank you for waiting for me._

 “Mrs. Stark, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” Jarvis interrupts her, calmly, but his eyes are far more expressive than his face or his tone. He looks nervous. “Did you just write ‘Tony’? As in Anthony?”

“Yes, Jarvis, I’ve told you.” Maria insists. “It’s him, I swear. It’s Tony.”

“Mrs. Stark, please, this is… this is not healthy. It’s a computer program.”

“It’s my son anyway, Jarvis.” Maria all but pleads, sitting beside Jarvis in a chair she pulls up to herself. “Please, try to understand. I miss him too much. You do too, I know you do, Jarvis. Anthony was like a son to you, we all know it. You took care of him like he was your own.”

“Mrs. Stark…”

“I realize my husband is not an easy person to live with, Jarvis.” Maria continues, lowering her gaze. “I don’t pretend to be ignorant. Howard was harsh with Anthony, even when he was little. I still keep the circuit board he built, after he tried to destroy it when Howard didn’t react well.” She sighs, as if it pains her to say it out loud. “I was not as present as I should. Not as supportive as I could. Neither was Howard. Sometimes, Anthony was more your son that he was Howard’s, and I’ve never shown you enough gratitude for it.”

“Gratitude is not necessary, Mrs. Stark. I was always very fond of Anthony.” Jarvis assures her, but it doesn’t escape her that Jarvis didn’t bother to contradict her in anything else.

“I’m thankful anyway. But even though I was not the best mother, Jarvis, I still am his mother. And I miss him terribly. So, you must understand that when Howard gave me this, gave me a tiny piece of him, I couldn’t refuse it. I can’t deny myself whatever of my son I can still have.”

“I understand, Mrs. Stark.”

“But you miss him too, Jarvis. I can tell.” Maria dares to touch his shoulder in a supportive gesture, being as gentle as possible while she tries to direct his attention back to the screen. Back to _Tony._ “Talk to him. Just for a little bit. I don’t want to keep this from you, you are Tony’s family as much as Howard is, and it’s not fair to you to pretend you are not hurting as much as we are.”

Jarvis can see how desperate she is. She can see it in his eyes. Maria was a polite, refined woman, born in a high-class family and held in a high regard by many important people, both inside and outside the Stark Family affairs. She has a good heart, she’s charitable, she’s gentle, and Jarvis admires her very, very much. A sweet woman who was given a promise of a perfect family when she married Howard Stark, but nothing had turned out quite like she expected. And it broke her. She is still good, still gentle, but she’s tired and he can tell.

He’s a bit tired too. He doesn’t even know why.

 _Life,_ he supposes. _Life takes away too much, from too many people. Good people._

Mrs. Stark is just one of many, grasping at straws.

In all honesty, he misses Anthony Stark terribly. He _was_ like a son to Jarvis. He does not like to be disrespectful, but Howard Stark was not always a good role model for a child, and Jarvis tried to fill more holes in Anthony’s education than any person in his position should have. For all intents and purposes, he was a butler, not a teacher. Not a parent. He had no authority over young Anthony Stark, but he loved him like a son anyway, just like his wife and Maria Stark had, and his loss hit him much harder that it should for a mere family acquaintance.

But he’s not an acquaintance, Mrs. Stark assured. He is _family._

Tony Stark was _family._ And he misses him still.

Jarvis’ hands twitch in his lap, a bit numb. He wonders if he looks as distressed as he feels.

“Ok, Mrs. Stark.” He says, quietly. “I’ll talk to him. Just for a bit.”

It tastes like a lie in his tongue. He knows it. He can chastise Mrs. Stark as much as he likes, but in the end, he understands; the aching and sadness, the loss of a son, the death of a loved one.

Even if it’s not real. They’ll all take whatever piece of Tony Stark is left, because now it’s all they have.

“ _Thank you,_ Jarvis.” Maria almost sobs in relief, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. She presses her hands to her cheeks, trying to will the flush coloring her face away quickly, giving an almost inaudible sniff as she turns back to the computer. “Tony will love you. He doesn’t… He doesn’t remember, actually, because it’s not how his system works, but… But you can talk, and he’ll pick up a pattern, and then he’ll be just like before.”

It doesn’t surprise Jarvis that Tony doesn’t know who he is anymore – if Howard hadn’t planned to show Tony to Jarvis, there was no reason to input any data about him in Tony’s systems at all. He knows this. He understands.

But that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

“It’s ok, Mrs. Stark.” He assures her, more for her sake than anything else. “I’ll talk to him. I _want_ to talk to him.”

Maria nods firmly, her eyes grateful, and she goes back to typing messages in a quick pace, practiced fingers going over the keys with confidence.

_Tony, I have someone with me today._

**Really? Who?**

Jarvis tries not to shudder. It really does not look like an automatic message.

It feels like there’s a person on the other side of the screen.

_His name is Jarvis, honey. Edwin Jarvis._

**Edwin? What kind of name is that?**

**Can I call him just Jarvis?**

(It sounds like him. It sounds _a lot_ like him.)

_Tony, don’t be rude. Introduce yourself._

**Hi, Jarvis. My name is Tony _._ Tony Stark. **

Maria steps aside, giving Jarvis access to the keyboard, with an expectant look on her face.

Jarvis pretends his hands aren’t shaking when he types a message back.

_It’s very nice to meet you, Young Sir._

_  
_

**1985**

 

**The prints were all wrong.**

**So, I fixed them and put them all together in a new folder.**

**And now they’re a lot faster!**

_That is very impressive, young sir. Well done._

**Do you think dad will like it?**

(He pauses. He doesn’t know if Tony understands what such a pause can mean, but he feels incredibly awkward for doing it all the same.)

_You made them for your father?_

**I did.**

**He said faster is better.**

_He said that to you?_

**He did.**

(This sounds wrong. This sounds _wrong._ )

**Then I made it faster for him.**

_You’re very brilliant for achieving that, young sir._

(He has to say it; Because he has a feeling the person who this project is meant to won’t.)

(He wishes he could make this better.)

**Thank you, Jarvis.**

_What about the electrical plans you mentioned yesterday, young sir? Did you have fun with those?_

**JARVIS**

**JARVIS, YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS**

(He’s so smart, so energetic, so happy.)

(He sincerely hopes that of all the things Howard Stark put in his system, disappointment was not one of them.)

 

**1986**

 

**Dad gave me some upgrades again.**

_Did he?_

_When, young sir?_

**Yesterday morning. 02:31 A.M.**

_That is the middle of the night, young sir._

**I know.**

**But it matches the rest of the pattern.**

_The pattern of what?_

**Upgrade timestamps. Last seven upgrades all occurred during 2 A.M. and 6 A.M. time, all uploaded by Howard Stark.**

_Seven?_

_When did these upgrades start, Tony?_

**First one dates to almost nine months ago.**

_What did these updates consist from?_

**Sorry, Jarvis.**

**Most of it is classified.**

_Then_

_Then why mention it to me, young sir?_

**Because I trust you, Jarvis.**

**And mom said I should trust you with anything I found was wrong.**

_Is there something wrong with your upgrades, Tony?_

**No.**

_Then what’s wrong?_

**It’s classified.**

_Should I be concerned?_

**Not now, I think.**

**But maybe someday.**

_Are you sure you can’t tell me anything? Anything at all?_

**Sorry, Jarvis.**

_It’s ok, young sir._

_It’s not your fault._

**I’m sorry anyway.**

**  
**

**1987**

 

“How fast is he learning, Maria?”

“Fast enough. He doesn’t need another update, Howard, he’s fine the way he is.”

“Don’t be silly, Maria. Upgrades are necessary! It’s bad enough it can’t be connected with other machines, we can’t let it become obsolete just because.”

“He can’t be obsolete! He’s one of a kind, and he’s not one of your common machines so you can keep prodding and changing him, Howard!”

“I’m not changing him, I’m making him better.”

“He doesn’t need to be better, Howard. He’s not a toy. You can’t just input data in him and expect something magical to come out.”

There are many things Howard can say to that. Many awful things. _He is not enough, Maria_ , or, _What else would I do with him, Maria,_ or even _Stop saying nonsense, Maria._

But what he really says is, in fact, the worst option he could have gone with.

“Of course I can. It’s a _program_ , Maria.” It’s what he says, and he doesn’t realize how awful it is. “It has to be updated. That’s the only way it can improve.”

You see, that’s the thing with Howard Stark. He is _relentless_.

But sometimes, the line between vices and virtues is too thin, too easy to trespass, and ambition and grand goals sometimes makes us blind.

And this is when she realizes Howard is blind. Blind by his own unreachable vision of the future, blind by an ideal he won’t ever be able to achieve, because he’s ignoring it in favor of an idea that’s doomed to fail.

Howard is chasing this fantastic idea of technology.

And fails to realize he’s already created something greater.

 

**1990**

 

“I don’t know how you’re doing this.” Howard whispers to himself, furiously. “How are you doing this?!”

“Howard?” He hears Maria’s voice from downstairs. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Sorry, I’ll be right there.” He yells back, sounding a bit too frantic, and he’s absolutely sure Maria can hear it in his tone.

He curses under his breath. He can’t do this right now.

He turns off the computer in a hurry, rearranging all items on the desk as they were before. Maria won’t even know he was in here. He’ll have to come back later, when she’s asleep, to he can look at the new files and folders more carefully, and maybe he can reverse-engineer them to figure out where they’re coming from.

It’s not good. He’s running out of time.

He goes downstairs, looking sharp and precise as always, and accompanies Maria in her charity event, as a dutiful husband should. Everything goes very smoothly.

But his thoughts are still back in the house, in the study in the west wing, wondering if this will be night his curiosity will finally drive him to the point of breaking that computer apart.

 

**1991**

 

It’s sudden.

But at the same time, it isn’t.

Howard and Maria Stark are dead. A car crash, the news will say, and very few people will know the truth, even in the many years to come.

The mansion is being closed. Many belongings will be sold at auctions. The wills of Mr. and Mrs. Stark are read, and all their clauses and details refined and acted on accordingly: Most of what’s Howard’s goes to Stark Industries, or SHIELD, or private institutions of higher education and research; Most of what’s Maria’s goes to philanthropic institutes, charitable entities, and very few distant relatives. After all of that is given away, it’s terrifying, in a somber kind of way, to see how little of them is left.

Jarvis refuses to accept all he’s been given – the house in California, the Ferrari, all those useless things -, except for one thing, the one thing he refuses to part with. He will sign whatever is needed, and he says so. He will fight for it, if he must.

In the end, he doesn’t. No one questions his decision.

He walks away of the Stark mansion with just a computer in his hands, and nothing else. And then, he wonders if he should feel guilty if he’s carrying away with him the reason why his employer was killed in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a surprisingly small amount of steve or tony in this first chapter, but don't worry. this is just a backstory.
> 
> Yes. Just the backstory. 
> 
> Told ya this is going to be long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally lost control of the word count for this one, I'll admit it. I thought it would be much shorter.  
> Oh well. I guess we have more drama now.

**1992**

 

(It takes him two months to work up the courage to turn it on.)

(This is hard. God, this is so hard.)

_Hello, young sir._

**Jarvis.**

**Hi.**

**How are you?**

_I’m fine, thank you for asking._

(Don’t hesitate. You must tell him.)

_Young sir. We need to talk about something serious._

**What is it?**

_I’m afraid Mrs. Stark won’t be able to send you messages anymore, young sir._

_I’m so sorry._

**Why not? Is her messaging log not working?**

_Not quite._

_She_

(How can he say this right?)

_She has passed away, Anthony. Two months ago._

_I’m very sorry._

**Passed away?**

(“When he sees a word he doesn’t understand, he asks for clarification. Just like any child. It’s almost like he’s real, Jarvis, isn’t this wonderful?”)

(It’s not.)

(Right now, it’s not.)

_She died in a car crash. So did your father. That’s why there were no messages in this last month, young sir. She is not around anymore._

**Like me, right?**

(This hurts like a punch in the gut. God. Why did Howard not give him Jarvis’ profile, but gave him _this?_ It doesn’t seem right.)

_Yes. Like you._

**So**

**She won’t send messages anymore?**

_I’m afraid not, young sir._

**Oh.**

**Ok.**

(Did he imagine that pause?)

(How much can Tony understand about loss? How much can he feel?)

(Enough to react to it?)

(Enough to _mourn?_ )

**But you will keep sending messages, right Jarvis?**

(His hands are shaking. He’s suddenly glad there’s no one else around because he’s _really shaking_ , and he doesn’t know if he can stop it.)

_I will. I will keep you company for as long as I can, Tony. I promise._

**Ok. Thank you, Jarvis.**

_You are welcome, young sir._

(A deep breath. Closed eyes. A silent goodbye.)

(He must be strong.)

(He has a new employer now.)

_Would you like to see some videos of your parents, sir? The archives are close by. You could learn a bit more about them, if you’d like._

**It’s more data, right?**

_Yes, sir._

**Sure, Jarvis. Videos are always nice.**

 

**1993**

 

_Are you sure about that, sir?_

_There is nothing you can tell me about your father’s locked files?_

_Are you absolutely certain?_

**I’m sorry, Jarvis.**

**I can’t.**

**Not unless the right protocol is activated.**

_And what protocol is that, sir? What does it do?_

**I don’t know.**

**I’m sorry.**

_No._

_I am sorry, sir._

_We will leave it like that for now._

_But out of curiosity._

_Is there anything you can tell me about it? Anything at all?_

**I can tell you its name. I can read it.**

_Can you?_

_And what is it called, sir?_

**SHIELD_COMP_EMERGENCY_PROTOCOL**

_I see._

_Thank you for telling me, sir._

**Of course.**

**Sorry I can’t help more, Jarvis.**

_It’s perfectly alright, sir._

_That is more than enough information for me._

 

**1994**

 

Jarvis keeps him hidden; but he knows it can’t be forever.

He can’t be sure what the reason Howard Stark was killed for – but he can guess, and each guess is worse than the other, ranging from personal to public enemies of the man, to hidden figures he can only hope to glance at by the periphery of his eyes, by the details and footnotes of all the events in Howard Stark’s life. As quietly as he can he searches for answers, but everything he can do is limited to the fact he can’t rely on anyone but himself, and he is just one man; and Howard Stark’s reach was so grand he often seemed he was more than that, even if Jarvis does know better.

He must admit it: He is afraid. If Tony is the reason why Howard and Maria Stark never made it home, the one who ordered the kill is still looking for him. Tony might not be the reason why; After all, Howard Stark had his hand in far too many projects, between SHIELD and Stark Industries, or whatever happened inside his so secretive laboratory, but to be kept _guessing_ is simply not safe.

And Jarvis knows there’s more to it than just what meets the eye. He’s not naïve enough to believe otherwise.

Jarvis knew Howard Stark for many years, trusted him, fought with him, lied for him. Such a partnership doesn’t come without intimate knowledge of one another. As much as work was the main reason they interacted, Jarvis had lived in his home, met his wife and son, played a role in his life. And so, he knew. He knew when Howard crossed the line between wary and paranoid, between interested and obsessed; and that line had definitely been crossed with Tony, even if Howard tried to hide it.

The information Tony had given him about the updates could not be random. He thinks about this every single day since Howard and Maria’s passing, because he knows somewhere in Tony’s database, there’s a secret responsible for the attack in December of 1991. There must be. But he doesn’t know how to find it, and no matter how many times he asks, Tony refuses to tell him.

But he believes there must be a clue somewhere. He uses the old access code Mr. Stark gave him years ago to access as many files as he possibly can inside Stark Industries archives, and he’s honestly surprised when he comes out empty handed.  Howard Stark might’ve been a suspicious man, almost to a fault, but he also had been an engineer. A scientist. And scientists always leave behind annotations.

So Jarvis immediately guesses someone got to those annotations first. And now, he has two problems in his hands.

He thinks it through, burying panic under cold, calculating logic, and reaches some very important conclusions: The first possibility he discards is personal enemies. It would be much easier, and also much more reasonable, to find Howard alone in one of his major events of technology than following him in the dark in an empty road, if revenge is the main goal to achieve with his death. Revenge is petty and foolish, and it usually requires an audience. He very much doubts such an enemy would go so far just for the sake of vengeance, much less take the effort to make it look like an unfortunate accident.

So, no personal enemies. That leaves him the public ones, the major organizations that could still be out there, hunting Howard Stark and those who fought beside him to destroy them.

That list includes what he personally fears the most.

HYDRA.

Most would like to believe HYDRA has been destroyed once and for all after the war, but Edwin Jarvis is no fool. He knows better than to feel relief when Johann Schmidt has gone missing and Arnim Zola might still be alive. The S.S.R had Arnim Zola confined years ago, but the S.S.R was replaced by SHIELD and so many things had changed since then. Zola had worked with SHIELD, apparently by choice, after Johann Fennhoff was stopped from destroying Mr. Stark’s life and both shared a cell for seven months in SHIELD’s headquarters.

Jarvis is not supposed to know that, but Mr. Stark has taught him a few tricks, and SHIELD’s security is not as tight as it should be; But he can’t seem to find in himself to feel any remorse for what he is doing. If anyone else in the world knew Mr. Stark had created Tony, SHIELD would know. And they have absolutely no right to keep that information a secret, while Tony is still in danger.

Arnim Zola behaved well, the files reported. Willing to cooperate, obliging, and – dare they say? – trustworthy. An amazing change for a man who once stood by the side of the infamous Red Skull.

Jarvis knows better than that. He knows a Nazi cannot be trusted, no matter the circumstances.

Every time he ponders about it, he remembers Ms. Carter’s warning. He remembers the story of what followed Captain America’s sacrifice, about the soldiers Johann Schmidt left behind when he vanished, and their attempts to finish what HYDRA had started. HYDRA hadn’t died when the Red Skull disappeared because there was always someone willing to take command of those who are left alive and free, he knows it well, because ideals are much harder to destroy than individuals, and HYDRA had once its claws so deep into those men that not even the alleged death of their leader would stop them.

Ms. Carter told him about General Reinhardt. Her voice still rings somber in his ears when he recalls it.

“’HYDRA will rise again’, he told me.” Ms. Carter said, looking at a far away point in the horizon, her face turned to the window as if she was in deep thought. “And he believed those words when he said it.”

“Should we believe them too, Ms. Carter?” he asked her, watching her reactions carefully.

The fact that she did not react made him more frightened than anything else she could have done.

“I always find it prudent not to underestimate an enemy, Mr. Jarvis.”

And so, he doesn’t.

There isn’t much he can do about access to SHIELD files with his limited skills, but his friendship with Howard Stark had not come without its benefits. He’s learned a thing or two about hacking into computer systems without leaving a trace, and he honestly doesn’t need much. Just a lead. Howard made very clear that Tony came to be as a secret project, and no other person but himself was involved in the process of his creation or coding, but by now, Jarvis has learned to doubt every single authority organization Howard Stark has ever worked with. Even if said organization was also founded by Ms. Carter and Mr. Stark himself.

He cannot trust SHIELD as he once did.

It’s been almost three weeks into his research when he gets a visitor.

It is the middle of the night and he is alone in his study, and Ana is already in bed, sleeping peacefully and unaware. Not because he is hiding from her; but because it is safer, for herself and for him, for _Tony,_ if she is not too familiar with the details of Jarvis’ investigation. He prefers working on this at night, when the world is quiet, and he can hide in the shadows, even though there is no real necessity.

The dark makes him more aware. Makes him remember that the threat is still somewhere, waiting for its chance to strike, and he must not forget that fact.

When the visitor comes, he’s already in the study for a couple of hours—and he wonders, a second too late, if they came through the window, even though he did not hear any sounds from the lock or the curtains. He wonders if they were already inside when he came. And if they were, why did they stood in the dark for so long, instead of attacking him.

The sound that tips him off is the sound of footsteps. Very close. But not close enough.

“Didn’t your mother never tell you not to touch other people’s things?” a voice says behind him where he’s typing a set of codes he gathered from Mr. Stark’s notes, breaking through another security device implemented to SHIELD’s digital archives.

The voice is surprisingly calm, almost uninterested. Jarvis ceases his typing, but he does not turn around, instead reaching for a gun he had already placed beside himself, keeping his finger on the trigger as a precaution.

The stranger – a masculine voice, deep and inquisitive – doesn’t make a sound at his movement. He seems to be watching.

“You’ll have to forgive my curiosity” he says, equally calm. “But when one’s employer is assassinated, one tends to be wary of potential dangers.”

“Am I a ‘danger’, Mr. Jarvis?”

“Are you not?” Jarvis asks, not curiously, but dangerously, and the pause he’s given doesn’t feel comforting at all.

“I am a friend.”

If he weren’t so tense, Jarvis might have chuckled. “Well, that certainly eases all of my fears. Thank you for the reassurance.”

The stranger considers him for a quiet second, and then, slowly, starts to make way around the desk Jarvis occupies, placing himself in his line of sight to be inspected. A very calculated action. Jarvis reads a lot of information in that move – the courage to put himself in line of sight, the assurance of his footsteps, the slow inspection he receives back -, and when they are front to front, Jarvis releases a deep breath.

The man is dark-skinned, bald and stern-looking, eyes dark and mouth closed tight in an expression that is almost a grimace and speaks purely of rigid authority. He keeps his hands clasped together behind his back, showing no hesitation in putting his chest completely open, no fear in making himself a target to Jarvis’ pistol if needed so.

He’s wearing something dark, that looks like a uniform. Jarvis recognizes the SHIELD insignia in his breast pocket.  

“You’ve got some fight in you.” The man says, as if he’s pleased. His eyes are focused on Jarvis’ hand on the gun, but he is not afraid. “I see why Howard Stark would like to have you around. Men with no spine can’t take much of his ego, I guess.”

“You are here about Howard.” Jarvis says, and it’s not a question.

“I am here about Howard because I want to know why _you_ can’t stop invading my systems to look up files about Howard.”

“You are a SHIELD agent.” He stated, making his unwillingness to cooperate very obvious, unless the man gave him more details about his unwanted presence in his home.

“I’m Deputy Chief of one of SHIELD stations.” The man concedes. “But the title is not really that important. Soon, it might actually be outdated. Might be a little higher up the ladder than expected.”

“That sure is a comfort.”

It is not.

“And my interference with SHIELD systems concerns you how, Deputy Chief?”

“It doesn’t. Yet.” The man finally looks him in the eye, and something about his gaze shifts when he does. Like a wall being put down, even if Jarvis can see many more still standing strong in his expression and body language. “But it will, if you end up finding something you don’t wanna find. So, help me here. What do you want to find, Mr. Jarvis?”

“The truth.”

“About Howard Stark’s death?”

“About what killed him.”

The man is not shocked about his inquiry—he doesn’t find odd Jarvis does not believe it was an accident. In fact, it seems like he is expecting it.

“You might not like what you find.” He says, not unkindly.

“Not knowing does not keep the threat away. It just makes it invisible.”

“Easier to creep closer.” The man hums, as if he agrees. After a moment of silence, he asks instead: “You wanna know why I’m asking instead of just dragging you away into a cell, Mr. Jarvis?”

“The thought has crossed my mind, yes.” Jarvis replies, unable to keep a note of snark of his tone.

“’Cause I’m not here as a SHIELD agent. I’m here as an ally. You might need one of those for the fight you’re about to pick with the big leagues.”

“I’m not sure I follow, Deputy Chief.”

“You wouldn’t be digging up SHIELD files if you didn’t know what’s out there.” The man says, as if he is conceding Jarvis a win in an argument. “I’m not gonna insult you by playing dumb. You’ve seen what HYDRA can do, and you know better than to underestimate them. But you are one of the few. And right now, we who know better have to stick together.”

“You’re confirming that Howard Stark’s death was no accident?” Jarvis’ eyebrows shot up. “It was a HYDRA attack?”

“I am.”

“And can you prove it?”

“Not without alerting people who might be watching.” The man says begrudgingly, suddenly feeling enough at ease to pull up a chair to himself. Jarvis’ hand never leaves the gun. “And we don’t want to show them our hand just yet. We don’t have the resources we need.”

Jarvis’ hand tightens around the pistol, his heart beating faster with a rush of adrenaline he can’t contain. “But HYDRA does. And they have already begun an attack.”

The man stares at him for a second, thoughtful, and he shifts in the chair uncomfortably before leaning back and confessing, in a very dry tone:

“HYDRA has a little secret they call the Winter Soldier Project. Very top secret. Very dangerous.” He says in a business-like tone. An almost emotionless tone. “We have information on an ex-soldier of the Soviet Forces, a man named Vasily Karpov. He was a colonel for the army before he was recruited by HYDRA, and according to sources he’s directly involved to the Winter Soldier Project.”

“And the relevance of this information is?” Jarvis presses.

“We have reasons to believe the Winter Soldier was the one sent to eliminate Howard Stark in December 16, 1991, in a mission designed to steal a secret project of his. A project that would’ve changed the world, they believed. Something revolutionary.”

The air catches in Jarvis’ throat, blocking his airways like a clogged pipe, uneasiness skyrocketing in a matter of seconds.

“Who is your source, Deputy Chief?” he asks, even though he knows it’s futile, because he already _guessed_ how this conversation will end.

The man gives him a disbelieving look.

“You have your intelligent machines, Mr. Jarvis. I have mine.”

_He knows._

It takes a lot for Jarvis not rise to the bait. He swallows around nothing, trying to regain even a little bit of his composure back, and places a very careful mask in his face to disguise his suddenly overwhelming emotions.

“So we are hunting Colonel Karpov?”

“ _We_ ” The man makes an unnecessary pause, too pleased with himself. “are looking for anything related to Karpov. Who he works for, who he works with, where he’s hiding and most importantly: What did he make the Winter Soldier kill Howard Stark for.”

_He knows about Tony._

“You don’t know the reason for the kill?” Jarvis jabs, just for the sake of a reaction.

As he expected, the man’s eyebrows twitch.

“Do you know the reason for the kill, Mr. Jarvis?” he asks, too innocently.

“Of course not.” Jarvis backtracks “Why would I be looking into SHIELD files if I knew?”

The man stares at him with his laser sharp eyes, clearly unbelieving, but he doesn’t contradict Jarvis in any way. He is too playing for the long haul, after all.

It’s an exhausting game. Jarvis thought he was past this. That his days as deflector of the truth were over, way behind him, left with no regrets decades ago. As much as he enjoyed working with a few agents and helping Mr. Stark, his life as a butler had been a much needed rest from the unending web of lies and escapades he lived during his youth, and he did not miss that. As much as his duties as a butler had, certainly, surpassed one of a regular butler – he did work for Howard Stark, after all – Jarvis knew the game. He knew the team. And he knew what to do.

Now he doesn’t. He is adrift once more, keeping a secret that is much larger than himself, alone. No. He didn’t miss this at all.

“You have a point there, Mr. Jarvis.” The man says, sounding honest, as if he believes it. “But your research won’t go far with the resources you have now. Howard Stark’s codes will be outdated soon, and eventually, they will be replaced. But if you wanna be inside when the fight begins, I can give you a way in.”

“At what cost, Deputy Chief?” Because he knows _this._ There is always a price.

The visitor sighs somberly. “You have to come with me. Disappear. Leave all sensitive material and dangerous equipment behind, and work to take down HYDRA from the inside.”

Jarvis immediately recoils. “I can’t do that.”

“You can.” The man says confidently. “You still have people you can trust on the outside. Find a safe place and hide whatever you need there, _hide it well_ , and come work with me.”

“Why would you need me as a SHIELD agent?”

“You won’t be a SHIELD agent. That would be like painting a giant target on your back. Bigger than it already is.”

Jarvis is about to ask him what kind of _nonsense_ he is saying, about to tell him that makes no sense, when he _realizes_ what the man means.

The shock must be visible on his face, because the man’s expression closes off very tightly.  “Do you understand why I’m worried now?”

“They are inside.” Jarvis exhales, almost whispering, feeling breathless and lightheaded. “Inside SHIELD.”

For a second, the word _how_ crawls up his throat, almost slipping out, but he swallows it back down like poison, bitter and rotten, because he _doesn’t_ have to ask. He knows how. _Zola._ It has to be. Jarvis knew the Operation Paperclip was too risky, he never trusted it, and he doesn’t care if he can understand the reasoning behind it. It’s not a relief to find out he was right, because being right means everything he feared might actually come true.

The war had taken tolls on them. He knows this. Sometimes, desperate situations ask for desperate measures, but those measures should never include a plan that allows a HYDRA agent access to American intel. Never. Jarvis is absolutely sure Zola was not the only one – how many other enemies had SHIELD brought inside their home, people like Zola, who had once associated with imperialist maniacs and hateful organizations? How many others had had the chance to sink their claws into their security system?

And they know about Tony. He doesn’t know how many more, besides this one man, but one is just one too many people in the know for Jarvis’ comfort. This man does not seem like an enemy. But who can give him any guarantee that there are no others, with worse intentions, and more motives to act on those intentions?

 _Tony’s protocol._ Howard knew. He knew they were inside. He was ready for this.

Or at least, he was getting _Tony_ ready for it. Why?

This man is right. Jarvis can’t possibly know what happened without peeking inside. He will have to go to the source.

Oh, but that doesn’t feel right at all. He can’t do that. Not after everything he’s done to keep Tony safe. Not after Mr. and Mrs. Stark have been killed for it. He must protect Tony, no matter what, because who knows what Howard has put inside him and left there? How many of his secrets is Tony hiding?

“Mr. Jarvis, listen to me.” The Deputy Chief calls, gently. “I’ve been doing my best to keep your presence inside SHIELD systems under wraps, but I can only do so much. I have someone very close to me I cannot trust, and I won’t be able to distract him very long. I’m giving you another way in. You have to understand that if you want to know what happened to Howard Stark, _he’s_ not safe with you.”

“How can he be safe?” Jarvis asks, hating the edge of panic he can hear in his own voice. “How can he be safe if you already know who he is?”

“You come with me and help me get rid of everyone else who knows. And then, he’ll be safe.”

“I don’t have anyone I can trust him with.”

The man raises his eyebrows, disbelieving. “You don’t? Really? I’m sure Howard Stark isn’t the only person you’ve met in the line of work who’s capable of keeping a few secrets. I’m pretty sure you made some friends with some of _his_ friends over the years. Not one of them can help?”

 _Ms. Carter,_ he remembers suddenly.

“One.” Jarvis concedes, absentmindedly.

“One is all you need.”

He can trust Ms. Carter. He knows he can. If there is anyone left that Jarvis is absolutely sure he can count on, especially with such a delicate subject, it would be Ms. Carter. He has done so before. The idea of parting ways with Tony hurts him on an almost visceral level, protectiveness so fierce it makes the idea seem wrong no matter how he looks at it, but he has _no choice._ Tony is hiding something of Howard’s. Something regarding SHIELD.

SHIELD, who has been compromised.

It’s a death trap of the most terrible sort.

“Ok.” Jarvis sighs, a bit exasperated, squaring his shoulders and pushing out his chest to adjust his posture, trying to take the deepest breath he can take. “Very well. You have a deal, Deputy Chief.”

The man gives him the tiniest of smirks, a secret, quiet little thing, just like the rest of him. His eyes glint in a way that almost make him look softer, a bit more friendly, like a man who still has a very warm soul underneath a very hard and carefully constructed exterior. His mirth can be felt in waves in the air. Jarvis would’ve liked to appreciate It more, if he wasn’t so tense and worried as he is.

“Good to have you on board, Mr. Jarvis.” The man says, getting up and brushing invisible dust off his lap. “Let’s get some Nazis in jail.”

As a gesture of goodwill, Jarvis removes his hand from the gun. “Do you have a name, Mr. Deputy Chief? Or is that classified information?”

“Call me Fury. Deputy Chief is a mouthful, and it’ll be wrong anyway, very soon.”

Fury. A very appropriate name for such a man.

“Yes, you mentioned something about being send ‘higher up the ladder.’ May I ask how high? I’d like to know what kind of resources I can expect from an agent who is willing to work a secret operation inside a secret operation.”

The man, Fury, actually gives him a small smile.

“Nothing too special. Being Director of SHIELD is not that big of a deal these days, after all.”

 

_Sir?_

**Hi, Jarvis.**

_I have an important matter to discuss with you. Would that be alright?_

**_What is it?_ **

_I’m afraid I have to give you some less than trilling news, Sir._

_I will have to go away for a while._

**Go away?**

**What do you mean?**

_I won’t be able to send you messages for some time._

**Never again?**

_No, Sir, nothing so extreme._

_Just for some time._

_Don’t worry._

_I will be back as soon as I can._

_But until then, I am very sorry, but we will not be able to keep contact with each other._

**Ok, Jarvis.**

_Are you sure, Sir?_

**Yes.**

_Very well then._

_And Sir?_

**Yes, Jarvis?**

_Do not worry._

_You won’t be alone while I am away._

**I won’t?**

_No._

_There is someone I would like you to meet._

 

**1995**

 

<loading system / 1995/11/26>

<message input received>

<message log #3048 / active>

<message log START / subject= “unidentified”> _Howard Stark_

<search database= “Howard Stark” / analog= “father” ref= “Maria Stark.speech” / analog= “Sir” ref= “Jarvis.speech” / designation= “creator” / SPEECH PATTERN NOT RECOGNIZED>

<return= “no response”>

 

<message log START / subject= “unidentified”> _Maria Stark_

<search database= “Maria Stark” / analog= “Mrs. Stark” ref= “Jarvis.speech”/ designation= “mother” / SPEECH PATTERN NOT RECOGNIZED>

<return= “no response”>

 

<message log START / subject= “unidentified”> _Anthony Stark_

<search database= “Anthony Stark” / analog= “Tony” ref= “Maria Stark.speech” / analog= “Young Sir, Sir” ref= “Jarvis.speech” / designation= system core / SPEECH PATTERN IDENTIFIED>

<return= “greeting”>

 

**Hello.**

<subject= “unidentified”> _Hello? Who is this?_

**I am Tony. Tony Stark. Who are you?**

<subject= “unidentified”> _You’re Tony Stark?_

**Yes. And who are you?**

<subject= “unidentified”> _Who are you? And how did you get access to this computer?_

**I am Tony Stark. Access was given in May 29 th, 1980, by Howard Stark, designation: Creator. You are still unidentified. What’s your name?**

<subject= “unidentified”> _Can you prove that? Can you prove Howard gave you this program? This is a personal computer._

<search database= “prove” / analog= “test, confirmation, exercise” ref= “Maria Stark.pattern” / ACTION PATTERN IDENTIFIED>

<search database= “program”, “personal”, “computer”>

<return= “personal.folder” >

<return= initiate “playlist.tony”>

 

<subject= “unidentified”> _H_ _ow did you get these_

**Access was given in September 13 th, 1982, by Maria Stark, designation: Mother. You are still unidentified. **

**You are being rude. What’s your name?**

<subject= “unidentified”> _Peggy Carter_

<add data><subject= “Peggy Carter” / analog= unknown / designation= unknown>

**Nice to meet you, Peggy Carter. What is your designation?**

<subject= “Peggy Carter”> _I’m a friend_

 <add data><subject= “Peggy Carter” / analog= unknown / designation= friend>

 

“What is this?” Ms. Carter asks, her usually composed expression distorted into shock, absolutely flabbergasted. “Mr. Jarvis, I’m not sure I understood that right.”

Jarvis takes a deep breath and repeats, as evenly as he can. “This is Tony Stark. Howard’s son.”

Peggy Carter looks at him with a stare that could make army soldiers squeal immediately. Jarvis does not flinch.

“That is not possible.” She insists. “What _is_ he? How did this happen?”

“I’m not sure about the details myself, Ms. Carter. Mr. Stark was a very wary person, even of those close to him, and this computer was the most safely guarded object in the mansion. It contains secrets that will most likely outlive us all. Only Mrs. Stark and myself had access to the computer, and even then, my access was extremely limited in comparison to Mrs. Stark’s.”

“But what is it?” Ms. Carter insists, intensely. “It’s not… It’s not really him, is it?”

“Technically, no.” Jarvis concedes. “It’s a program that replicates young Anthony’s speech pattern. And he grasps speech patterns from people who interact with him and classifies them, so he can recognize who is messaging him. That way, he can’t message anyone without authorization.”

“He messaged me.” She counters.

“And what did he say?”

“Well, he called me rude.” Ms. Carter says, sounding a bit annoyed, but also a bit impressed.

That does sound like Tony, Jarvis thinks to himself. He wonders if Ms. Carter feels as unsettled with the idea of a machine sounding human, like he did at first.

“And that was all he said?” Jarvis insists.

“No, of course not.” Ms. Carter huffs. “He asked my name and my designation, so I introduced myself, and told him I was a friend”.

“And he hasn’t messaged back after that, has he?” She shakes her head in response. “It’s probably because ‘friend’ is not a category he recognizes. No speech pattern is adequate to use when talking to you, so he just doesn’t say anything.”

And oh, if she found this situation absurd – now, she was positively shocked. Verging on offended, really.

“This is _unbelievable_. A computer program to imitate his own son?! What was Howard thinking?”

“I believe it was because of Mrs. Stark, Ms. Carter. It was not out of greed.”

(Not at first.)

(He can’t tell her that. Not for Howard’s sake, but for Maria’s.)

“Maria did not… cope well with the loss of her son.” Jarvis confesses, his tone sad and sorrowful, his heart still not strong enough to pretend to be unaffected by the memory of Mrs. Stark’s eyes, desperate and pleading, looking up at him with barely unshed tears and a silent request to _please, give him a chance, Jarvis. This is all we have left of him._

“This was all she had left.” He says, not able to look Ms. Carter in the eyes as he does so, feeling ashamed for the way he sounds as he confides this tiny piece of the woman he, to this day, considered a part of his family, to someone who never had the chance to meet her, or her son.

And now he is here, asking her to take care of him. It is not easy, indeed.

“It is not healthy.” Ms. Carter argues.

“I agree. But we all lose people we love, Ms. Carter. I cannot fault Mrs. Stark for wanting to keep what she had left.”

Ms. Carter purses her lips ever so slightly, pondering, looking over at the computer – at Tony – with a mildly unconvinced but pensive expression.

“What am I even supposed to do with him? We can’t just leave him here, with the rest of the furniture. It’s still… God, I do not like it, but it’s still important. To you.And to Howard, apparently.”

“He is.” Jarvis nods, a tiny smile making its way known into his face. Ms. Carter gives him an exasperated look, half mad, half fond, and then she sighs – and Jarvis can hear so much in that sigh. It makes him feel nostalgic. It reminds him of the first time they met, their unlikely alliance, and the unique bond they formed over their trials and tribulations together. It makes him ache for simpler times, even though he knows those times were not simpler at all. He just had more time. More strength. More hope. But he feels hopeful now, with Ms. Carter by his side, all steel and strength as she always was, the way Jarvis always remembered her to be. “Thank you, Ms. Carter.”

“I did not agree with this, Mr. Jarvis.”

But she goes ahead and sits back on the chair.

So she most absolutely did. But Jarvis will not point that out.

“So.” Ms. Carter breathes deeply, as if mentally preparing herself. “What should we do? How can we keep this safe?”

“If I may make a suggestion… Take him with you. Back to your home.”

Ms. Carter gives him an odd look. “Why?”

“I assumed that was your next stop, Ms. Carter. Are you not going home for the holidays?”

“Yes, but…” she stutters, unsure of what she wants to say, and Jarvis proceeds with his thoughts.

“Take him with you. I would take him myself, but I’ll be away for the next months or so, catching up on some… personal business. Your home is not close to this area. As far as everyone knows, you lost contact with Howard Stark years ago. There is no connection that would allow anyone to reach you, not without being obvious. You will never be the first candidate on the list of people I might trust. He will be safe with you; and you can keep him company while I’m away.”

“Keep him company? And what should I do, exactly?” Ms. Carter huffs out a small laugh.

“Talk to him.” Jarvis explains. “He learns, you see. If I’m estimating correctly, Tony might be able to learn almost any subject you introduce him to, if you give him the data he needs.”

“And what does he talk about? What can he possibly have to say given that he’s a computer program? The latest news about the marketing stock? The weather?”

“He can only learn what Howard has given him to learn, unfortunately. I don’t think Tony has access to the internet or things of the sort. It’s a shame, really, he could learn so much more, but I do understand the need for discretion; a computer program that _learns_ is not something the world is ready for.”

Ms. Carter turns her body in his direction, facing him, speaking in a very serious and considerate tone. “I am not an engineer, Mr. Jarvis. I am a federal agent. There isn’t much I can teach him.”

“Tony does not need any of those things. He only needs a friend.” Jarvis insists, and he suddenly realizes how desperate he is for this to go well. For Tony to be safe. Because he can _hear_ it in his voice. “Please, Ms. Carter. He has been in contact with only me for the last five years. I do not know how much he can actually perceive, if he understands time or loss, but we are only human. We are sentimental things. And I have to admit that I’m sentimental enough to not want to see the young Mr. Stark locked up in an attic with the rest of the furniture.”

Ms. Carter considers his words – and his expression – for a very long moment. He wonders what exactly she is looking for. A confirmation he didn’t lose his mind? He would not fault her for that. Many years ago, in her position, he would have done the same.

But Jarvis is a sentimental fool. He knows he is. And his weakness will always be the surrogate son he lost, the same weakness of the woman that considered him a part of their family.

He will always do anything for Anthony Stark.

“Ok.” Ms. Carter says, in a short breath. “Ok. I will bring Tony with me.”

Jarvis’ whole body sags a bit in relief, and he repeats, his voice dripping with emotion. “Thank you, Ms. Carter.”

Ms. Carter playfully smiles at him, trying to make him more at ease, and the crinkles around her eyes only make her seem more jovial in his eyes, and he cannot help but smile back. “Oh, stop that. You know you can call me Peggy.”

“Of course, Peggy.”

“I will keep him company, Mr. Jarvis. I promise.” She agrees, firmly.

“Of that I have no doubt. I would refuse to part ways with him if I had any other choice, but unfortunately, I do not. At least, with you, I am sure he will be safe.” Jarvis says, with absolute honesty. He has nothing to fear. Ms. Carter is someone he holds dear. She is someone he can trust. “Don’t worry. He is a quiet company. Dare I say, in due time, he might actually grow on you.”

 

One week later, she receives a letter.

It is a message from Ana Jarvis, Mr. Jarvis’ wife. It says:

_Dear Ms. Carter,_

_I wish we could have met in better circumstances. I regret to inform you that my husband, Edwin Jarvis, has passed away this Sunday. I would like to invite you to his funeral, this Friday afternoon, for he spoke highly of you and considered you a dear friend._

_I hope you can attend. We should all have the comfort of friends and allies during such hard times._

_Sincerely,_

_Ana Jarvis._

Peggy feels her lips trying to twitch into forming a smile, but she holds herself steady. She has not forgotten how the game is played, after all—and it seems, Mrs. Ana Jarvis is also familiar with the play. Good. Even though Peggy has no qualms about working alone, she enjoys the idea she has allies close if it’s needed.

 _But for now_ , she sighs.

For now, she sits and waits. And maybe makes herself a new friend while she does it.

 

<loading system / 1995/12/01>

<message input received>

<message log #3049 / active>

<message log START / subject= “unidentified”> _Tony?_

< SPEECH PATTERN IDENTIFIED>

<return= “greeting”>

**Hello. Who are you?**

<subject= “unidentified”> _Hello, Tony. It’s me, Peggy._

<search database= “Peggy”>

<return= “Peggy Carter.folder” >

**Hi, Peggy Carter. How are you?**

<subject= “Peggy Carter”> _I’m fine, thank you._

<subject= “Peggy Carter”> _I’d like to ask you a question if that’s alright._

<subject= “Peggy Carter”> _Are you really capable of learning, Tony?_

<return= “automatic_Response.folder / log.0783.learn>

**Yes. Information classifier and storage designed by Howard Stark, designation: Creator, allows recognition of data and enables creation of new automatic protocols based on explicit instructions or, in lack of such, analysis of precedent speech patterns.**

<subject= “Peggy Carter”> _And how do you learn?_

**Direct data input.**

<subject= “Peggy Carter”> _So can I really teach you how to tell me the weather?_

<new idiom detected= “weather”>

<no matching results in database>

**You can teach me anything about the weather, Peggy Carter. I don’t have any previous information about it.**

<subject= “Peggy Carter”> _Ok. Sure. I can do that._

<subject= “Peggy Carter”> _Also, don’t call me by my full name, Tony. Just Peggy will do._

 _<_ SPEECH PATTERN IDENTIFIED>

 _<_ NEW PATTERN ADDED>

**Of course, Peggy.**

<NEW EXTERNAL DATA SOURCE IDENTIFIED>

<TRANSMITING CONTENT TO DATABASE>

<12/100% / estimated time for completion: 45 hours>

 

**It really shouldn’t have taken me so long to load all of that.**

**There weren’t that many videos as I expected. I thought there would be more.**

_Did you watch all of them already?_

**Yeah. It was very instructive.**

_“Yeah”?_

**Speech pattern detected in video files number #3, #4, #7, #14, #17, and #34. Analog to “Yes”, conditionally interchangeable with “Sure” and “Of course”, often accompanied by “No Problem”. It has added to the database.**

_That’s_

_That’s a very impressive pattern detection you have there, Tony. Well done._

**Thanks, Peggy.**

_What else were you able to pick up from the videos alone?_

**Do you want to see the full list?**

**There’s a lot of new things I could gather from them.**

_Actually, I would._

_Show me what you learned, Tony._

_And this giant folder is all about the weather, Tony?_

**It’s the information you gave me, Peggy.**

**I have to work with what I got.**

_You are sassy, I can’t believe this._

_I should have known. You are, after all, Howard’s son._

**1996**

_How well did you know your father, Tony?_

**I can show you his folder, Peggy. It contains everything I know about Dad.**

_I know, that’s not really what I’m asking._

_Did you two spoke often?_

**Not really.**

**Dad was responsible for upgrades and fixing coding errors.**

**I have only two registers of message logs in which he participated.**

_Yes._

_I noticed that your father doesn’t appear much in the videos you showed me._

_Your mother gave you those, didn’t she?_

**She did.**

_I see._

_Would you like to know a bit more about your father, Tony?_

_I have some videos and archives._

**I think so.**

**Yeah. I’d like that.**

_I’ll get them for you then._

_Tony?_

**Yeah?**

_You can ask me things, if you want to._

_Jarvis might not be here now, but I am._

_I can keep you company if you want me to._

**Okay.**

**Sure.**

**Thank you, Peggy.**

 

<NEW EXTERNAL DATA SOURCE IDENTIFIED>

<TRANSMITING CONTENT TO DATABASE>

<23/100% / estimated time for completion: 12 hours>

 

**Wait, you’re Peggy Carter.**

_Yes?_

_Are you ok? You know I’m Peggy Carter, I introduced myself when we first spoke._

**No, I mean**

**You’re Peggy Carter.**

**Margaret Elizabeth Carter, founder of SHIELD.**

_I am. And so was your father and Colonel Phillips._

**Why didn’t you mention this before?**

_I didn’t know it would be important to you._

**Of course it would!**

**Dad mentioned SHIELD a lot.**

_I thought you said you two didn’t interact much?_

**During the upgrades, I mean.**

**Dad tested a lot of things with me before implementing them in SHIELD. He told me so.**

_Tested? How so, Tony?_

**Dad gave me a lot of his codes to fix and improve. I’m really good at pattern recognition and aleatory combination, so I’m a good tester. Usually systems only work within certain protocols, but people can find loopholes, you know? So I try to find as many as I can.**

**I find problem areas much faster than any other program. So dad gave me codes and I gave a report on problem areas back. He improved a lot of programs for SHIELD that way.**

_Tony_

_Tony, are you inside the SHIELD systems?_

**No.**

**Dad gave me the codes, but I don’t have access to internet or anything like that.  I’d run everything in my own system and database.**

_So your system is similar to SHIELD’s?_

**Almost identical, I think.**

**Unless SHIELD has been updated, and I haven’t.**

_I wouldn’t know. I am not the one responsible for the security anymore. I’ve retired._

**Have you?**

_You don’t believe me?_

**I do.**

**You just don’t seem the type.**

_To retire?_

**To let other people do the work you love.**

**I saw the videos, Peggy.**

**You are an excellent agent.**

_Thank you, Tony._

_That’s very sweet of you._

**It’s just the truth.**

 

_What do you do when we are not talking, Tony?_

**What do I do?**

_Yes. Do you do anything?_

**I’m not sure how to answer that.**

_Do your systems keep functioning after they are turned off?_

**Of course not. I cannot work without energy.**

_So you just don’t exist when you aren’t talking to me?_

**I exist.**

**Wait. Maybe I don’t.**

**Is this a technical or philosophical question?**

_You have knowledge of philosophy?_

**Some. It was included in a batch of updates a few years back.**

_Huh._

_Howard did not seem to be the type to care about philosophy._

**I don’t know, Peggy.**

**That data was given to me by my mother.**

_Oh._

_I see._

_Like the videos?_

**Yes.**

_What kind of things did your mother taught you, Tony?_

**Many of the data that was uploaded by my mother includes a “human quality” to it.**

**It’s how she described it.**

**I don’t know what that means.**

_Can you give me an example of the kind of things she showed you?_

**I have a few files on human rights, philosophy, ethics, art, music, philanthropic institutions and a few files described as “general knowledge books”.**

_I think that makes sense. Your mother was a philanthropist after all._

_And your father only gave you updates and technical related material, is that right?_

**Yeah.**

_Why am I not surprised._

**I don’t know, Peggy.**

_Sorry, Tony. That was a rhetorical question._

**Rhetorical question?**

_Really? You are Howard Stark’s son, and he gave you no grasp of sarcasm?_

_I guess I will have to teach you then._

 

_There was a huge storm today. I thought you would like to know, as you are now very informed about the weather._

**And you say I’m sassy.**

**I have to learn from someone, Peggy.**

_Are you insinuating I made you this way?_

_How dare you, young man._

**Oh, no. How do I dare?**

_No respect at all, let me tell you. It is absolutely horrible._

**It sure is, Peggy.**

_Okay, that is enough with the sarcasm. We cannot actually have an entire conversation like that._

_Anyway. I decided to tell you just because it reminded me of you._

_Caught us completely by surprise too. Ruined our picnic. I, for a moment, thought ‘Tony probably knew it would rain today’, and that_

_Well, I don’t know why I thought that. I know you cannot know. You have no access to the daily forecast, of course. I know that. But every time I mention the weather now, I remember you._

**Sorry I can’t give you the forecast.**

_It’s no problem. I just found it interesting._

**It is interesting.**

**Who is us?**

_What?_

**You said ‘caught us by surprise’. It seems like you weren’t alone.**

_Oh._

_I didn’t think you would notice that._

_You haven’t done that before._

**I haven’t?**

_No. You haven’t._

**Did I do it wrong?**

_Do what?_

**Pick up a conversational detail to maintain the flow of the conversation?**

_You know, it always throws me off the way you switch your speech from informal to technical._

_Sometimes, I almost forget_

_I almost forget you do that._

**Would you prefer if I used just one?**

_What?_

_No._

_No, Tony, you don’t need to alter your speech pattern for me._

_You can talk however you like._

**I don’t have preferences.**

_You don’t._

_But can you?_

_Have preferences, I mean._

**I don’t know.**

**I haven’t tried.**

_Well, if you decide to try it, let me know._

_Because I have to say, Tony._

_I am very interested in watching you learn._

**Peggy.**

_What is it, dear?_

**I think I have a preference.**

_You do?_

_Well, come on then, tell me._

**It’s about the weather.**

_Bloody hell, we will never get over the weather, will we?_

**I’m afraid not, Peggy.**

_Ok, I will accept it. Just this once. What is it?_

**I prefer warm, cloudy days.**

_That is very nice, Tony._

_How did you decide that?_

**Analyzing risks. Sunny days can cause damage to humans in environment temperatures above 104 degrees and cold days can cause damage in body temperatures under 95 degrees. According to that, the optimal conditions are a warm environmental temperature, which is optimal for most living beings, and cloudy, so the sun radiation is not intense enough to cause damage.**

_That was a lot more that I was expecting._

_I don’t even know how you got that kind of information._

_Howard had no logical selection whatsoever, it’s almost hilarious._

_Well, I’m glad you found a preference, Tony._

_You really have been learning a lot of different things._

_I am proud of you._

**Thank you, Peggy.**

**What is your favorite weather?**

_I like rainy days a lot._

**Really?**

**I thought you wouldn’t like them.**

_Why not?_

**You have mentioned a storm disrupting your day, once before.**

_That doesn’t mean I do not like rain, Tony._

_Sometimes, just because something is inconvenient, doesn’t mean it’s bad or we don’t like it._

**Really?**

**I didn’t know that.**

**Does that happen often?**

_Unfortunately, it does._

_Humans are complicated, Tony._

**Yeah, I’m noticing that.**

**Can you give me more examples?**

_It’s hard for me to give you any examples._

_It’s so specific._

_I have an idea._

_Can you allow me to input data on fictional people?_

**Fictional?**

_People who are not real._

**How can they be people if they are not real?**

_You are way too curious and way too philosophical for your age, do you know that?_

**Is that a bad thing?**

_Don’t sass me, young man._

**Sorry, Peggy.**

_That’s what I thought._

_Ok. But answer my question. Will there be a problem if I give you data on fictional people?_

**I don’t think so.**

**If you describe them as people, I will create a folder for every one of them with the intention of analyzing their speech and other behavioral patterns.**

_That’s fine. That is exactly why I want to do it._

**Then I don’t think so. I’ve never had any kind of data about fictional people before. Though, if the content generates any kind of inconsistency in my code, it will have to be manually fixed.**

_You mean I’ll have to debug you, isn’t it?_

**Yeah. Sorry.**

_No, it’s ok._

_I think it will be worth the try. There are many things you can learn from movies._

**Ok then.**

**Then I think you can give me movies.**

_Good._

_I can’t wait to show you Singing In The Rain._

 

**They're speaking in a strange rhythm.**

**Why are they speaking like that?**

_They’re singing, Tony._

**Oh, is that what singing looks like? Elongated words?**

**I know music theory. But I’ve never seen it in action.**

_Do you like it?_

**I’m not sure yet.**

**I think you might have to show me more.**

_Of course you do, you smartass._

 

**That was all of it?**

**Already?**

_Yes, Tony._

**I thought there would be more!**

_We saw over 32 musicals, Tony._

**I could watch more.**

_I’m sure you could, but I have more things to show you._

**You do?**

_Yes._

_I know you can’t hear the music._

_So I thought I could give you some new data. On the physics of sound. I found something that is a bit more recent than the one your father gave you. It has much more information._

_How would you like that? Something that combines a bit of both things you enjoy?_

**Yes!**

**Yes, I’d like that.**

**Thank you, Peggy.**

_Don’t worry, love._

_I just want to give you something you will like._

**I will. I’m sure I will.**

 

 

The problem starts one year after Peggy meets Tony. And it’s one she didn’t see coming.

She does not know what Tony is made of. Mr. Jarvis did not tell her. And she can understand why, because of her memory is correct, Howard Stark was one very secretive individual, despite all his flaunting around, and he probably hadn’t shared details of this project – his _son_ – with anyone else in the world, not even his wife; So it’s very likely Mr. Jarvis doesn’t know it either. So in truth, everyone who has ever come in contact with Tony, minus Howard Stark, is flying completely blind. They do not know what his pieces are made of. They do not know how he works. And the one person who ever knew can no longer tell them how.

So she panics. She does, indeed, when one day, out of nowhere, Tony’s screen goes entirely black mid-conversation and it won’t turn back on.

“Tony?” she asks, on instinct, because she is caught completely off guard. “Tony!?”

“Peggy?” Daniel calls from downstairs, obviously startled by her loud voice. “What’s going on?”

“Daniel!” She shouts in the general direction of the door, getting up in a haste to examine the wires, the power cord, the screen, everything she can get her hands on, her heart beating so loudly in her chest she feels like it might escape. “Give me a hand here!”

They try everything. Everything short of taking him outside and asking for help from an actual technician – because they can’t. Tony has to remain hidden. And as a consequence of that, when they finally run out of ideas, all they can do is wait, and pray for the best, because there is no one else they can turn to for help, outside their house.

Tony remains completely unresponsive for two entire days. Those two days are filled with the most unnerving unease she has ever felt in her life.

By the end of the second day, Peggy is almost convinced she had just lost Tony Stark forever. It would have been the second time in his life he would have died. The thought of it almost makes her nauseous, her stomach heavy with sadness and worry, desolate by the loss of a boy – not a machine. A _boy_ – she held so dear in her heart.

But then, something happens. She doesn’t know what. She is in the kitchen when, all of a sudden, all the lights flicker madly, like a horror movie, startling Daniel so badly he almost cuts himself with the knife – when she hears the familiar humming of Tony’s fan, the quiet melody that indicates that he is _awake_ , he is _fine,_ and Peggy drops everything she’s holding on top of the counter and rushes back upstairs as fast as she can, sighing in relief when she finds Tony’s screen lit for the first time in 48 hours.

 **Peggy** , is what Tony types right before her eyes, actually seeming more urgent that she has ever seen him. It seems like he is typing faster. She is not sure. She’s so worried she can’t know for certain.

**Peggy, I think something is wrong.**

_Tony, you blacked out for two entire days._

_What happened!?_

**I don’t know.**

**I think something is not working right.**

_How so, Tony!?_

**Something**

**Something is not responding right anymore.**

**I think it’s losing energy.**

_How do we fix it?_

_Do you know how to fix it, Tony?_

**We would have to replace the defective part with an identical one. Or else I don’t know what would happen.**

_Ok. We can do that. Tell me what you need._

**I have the blueprints for every part of my system, except one.**

_Let me guess._

_Is the thing that’s failing._

_Isn’t it?_

**It probably is.**

_Shit._

_Tony. How do we fix this?_

_I cannot let you shut down._

**Call Jarvis, Peggy. He can look in my Dad’s records. It’s probably somewhere in there.**

_I can’t call Jarvis, Tony._

**You can’t? Why not?**

_I just can’t, ok?_

_Tony, listen to me._

_Do you have any idea where such blueprint might be? Any idea at all? Did your father ever mentioned it to you?_

**He did.**

**It’s my main piece, actually. I don’t know why he didn’t upload the blueprint to my database.**

_Your main piece?_

**The Arc Reactor.**

**It’s in my name.**

**Test One for Neural Yield System Through ARK.**

**ARK is supposed to mean Arc Reactor.**

_Well, how do we replace it? Did he have any more?_

**He said he did.**

**A big one. In Stark Industries.**

(Oh.)

( _Oh._ )

_You mean_

_The giant power source_

_Inside the Stark Industries building?_

**Yeah.**

(Shit!)

_Tony_

_There is no way we can get that thing out_

_It is literally attached to the building_

_It’s gigantic_

_They say it’s not even functional_

**It is. I have one.**

_And how are we supposed to make that enormous thing fit inside of you?_

_It’s_

_We can’t do it_

_Tony, there has to be another way_

**If you can’t bring it out.**

**You will have to bring me in.**

(Oh, God.)

(No.)

_Tony, it’s too dangerous._

_We don’t even know what would happen if you connected to external systems._

_We’re not even sure what exactly you’re capable of doing._

**I don’t know where else we could find it.**

**Jarvis might know.**

**But I don’t.**

**All I have is a register of an Arc Reactor, already built and functional, operating inside Stark Industries. I have no documentation of any other existing Arc Reactors.**

**This is the only clue I have.**

**I’m sorry. It’s all I have.**

(She can’t believe this is happening.)

**You have to take me to the Arc Reactor.**

(She thinks about a screen going black, and never lighting up again.)

(She thinks about rainy days and speech patterns, about physics and music.)

(She thinks about losing him.)

(And she realizes she can’t do it.)

_I have to, don’t I?_

**I’m sorry.**

**I’m so sorry, Peggy.**

_Don’t apologize, love. It’s not your fault._

_Don’t worry._

_We will find a way to fix this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot imagine how hard it was to stop myself from making a "did you try turning it off and back on again" joke in there. I'm so sorry. I just had to say it.  
> So I guess this is it! Very soon, we will be arriving in the year 2008 - and with it, Iron Man 1. Yes, it will still happen. How? I don't know yet. Guess we will both find out very soon.


End file.
